This blog is (mostly) a near-verbatim transcription of my writing journal. Margins are the same as the journal. These are exercises, not finished products. Other types of writings will most likely emerge at some point.

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Journal 15 – Elections and WASPs

Laughter bounces down the hall with the picturesarranged in chronological procession, filled with teethand snow and leaves and swings and fences. Ourfences plunge themselves into the dry earth withwry sinister smirks of demarcation. Election dayis the most pretentious day of the year. Linesformed of the dead, the quiet dead in the year –filled days, placeholders when politics bubbles tothe surface, broaching the temperate topic ofPC conversation – hoping to remain quiet so as notto betray their own inherited ignorance as to whatthe current conditions and proposed solutions are;their party vote is what counts. Silent bud deadly.I've seen the cousin to the viper coiled arounditself next to a clear plastic bag of rabbit food –silently waiting for its young springing prey. Icould be prey. Though I've marinated too long inwine and bourbon – a brown purple glaze for thediner drifter – perfect for the exasperated and bored.Ennui enticed Baudelaire – I find flowers quitecharming in their ubiquitous ability to bring candidsmiles to the sullen faces of this hindsight generationof well-wishers. Well the mistakes that I've made;they do sometimes bother me. If I could only showyou how I feel – you would then say to me –hey hey don't bother me, you and I are the drasticterrific same – same as the Nazi bellowing for the nexttwitching death; same as the fish-flopping death ofone who puts his head in a plastic bag – what adisciplined way to depart. The ivory of my skin issaid to say so much. The chocolate of hers isoff limits. There is no double standard except withWASPs. We bear the weight of the world's illson our flogged shoulders – beaten and spatupon. We still look up with incredulous tear-filledeyes asking Why. Such a deprecated question. Weshould recognize our obsoleteness with wide whiteeyes – shameless and vesseled in our attempt toadapt like a 4-chambered heart in the Palaeozoic age.Disconfigured.